


Out of the Cage

by PunishedKonami



Series: Something Approaching a Superheroverse [6]
Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, Venom (Comics)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Gore, Gore description, Graphic Description, Monologue, Original Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-21
Updated: 2019-03-21
Packaged: 2019-11-26 16:35:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18183062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunishedKonami/pseuds/PunishedKonami
Summary: "We hope we will be there, the day where he finds his freedom. So that we may take it from him."





	Out of the Cage

It is all a means to that end.

Meeting the lowest of humanity. Seeing them hurt. Steal. Frame others. Stopping them. Through fear -- or otherwise. Often otherwise. Often without a second thought. An example must be made. It is a way of building power. It must be kept. Built upon. Until we can reach him.

It is a day that we look forward to. Meeting him again. We last saw his face months before. Now he’s in a cage. Must be incoherent, rambling, as I was -- or perhaps not. He is too calculated to let himself go astray. Not like that. Must be sustaining himself somehow. Planning. Wouldn’t use the idiot as a decoy. Smerdyakov. Nothing but a mouthpiece. _His_ mouthpiece. No thoughts of his own. Wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t planning something. None of us would be here.

Perhaps he plans to break free, as we tried. As we tried very hard to do. He must find it uncomfortable there. Confined. Little oxygen. Perhaps he wants to smell the air again. We hope. We hope. We hope that we will be there with Smerdyakov on that day, the day where he finds his freedom.

So that we may take it.

Memories of Oscorp. Tests. All sanctioned by _him_. Too many of them. Needles. Heat. And the sounds. Shrieking like wind. They stab us like daggers cut through human flesh. Unrelenting. Forever. Feeling like forever. We tried for our freedom. They were too quick. Always too quick. Must have been trained for that. He kept us there like we were a toy. Something to play with. He needed us. Then would throw us away. Cage us.

Until he didn’t. We were given our freedom. Some. Under his watch. Couldn’t contradict him. Brock had no reason to contradict him. He had what he wanted. He thought. He doesn’t know. He couldn’t give it to him. Even when asked. But now both of us see the person that Osborn is. We know. Clearly. A tyrant.

We know. So we wish to do something about it. When Brock sleeps, the one thing that sates us in his unconsciousness is the image of the man that caged us being taught to kneel before us. Of a slow reprisal. Of tearing off his limbs, slowly, so that we can see and hear the relishable sensation of muscle separating from bone, and bone cracking and snapping apart in the air. Of stabbing him with our teeth, the poison seeping into his bloodstream, taking over. Of hanging him high from a building in this city. Of knowing that he will see all that will outlive him as blood pours from every single orifice we create, as his useless, wasted, putrid body and soul expire from this earth. All that attempt to stop us from creating this image shall meet a worse fate.

For now, we sleep. The day shall come.


End file.
